


The second hand unwinds

by softgrungeprophet



Series: Settling down, it takes time [1]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Canonical Character Return, Filling in Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: What ever happened when Johnny died?What did Wyatt do when he lost his closest companion?What did he do when he came back?
Relationships: johnny storm & wyatt wingfoot, minor Jennifer Walters/Wyatt Wingfoot
Series: Settling down, it takes time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613767
Kudos: 10





	The second hand unwinds

**Author's Note:**

> Issues for context include _She-Hulks_ #1-4 and _Fantastic Four_ #584-588 overall, but particularly _She-Hulks_ #4 and _Fantastic Four_ #587-588.
> 
> Title from Cyndi Lauper's "[Time After Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgOE67GvvIc)."
> 
> Dates and years have been slid around a little.

# Death

 **Sunday, October 5 th, 2014**.

 **Manhattan, New York City, New York**.

" _I know, Bruce! Okay? I got it!_ "

The door to Jen's apartment slammed open moments after her voice filled the hall—

"I will talk to you _later_. Goodnight."

She slammed the door shut behind her, niece in tow.

Wyatt looked at her from the couch. She was green. Tall, in that purple and white leotard. Neither she nor Lyra seemed happy.

Red hair a mess, Lyra slunk away toward the bathroom.

Jen sighed. "Hi, Wyatt."

He draped one arm along the back of the couch, pillowing his face on his arm as she approached. She sat on the arm of the couch, and he considered her. Her size, the frown ticking her mouth downward as she pressed her face into one hand.

"I take it," Wyatt tried for a comforting, though disappointed, smile. "That our date is canceled?"

Jen huffed, but she almost smiled. Then frowned again. "I'm sorry, gorgeous..."

He stood, and shook his head. Took her hands, roughened from fighting. "I know how things are, with you." He raised one of her hands to his mouth to set a light kiss on her scarred knuckles, looking at her from under his lashes as he did so. "You wouldn't be you, otherwise." Another kiss, to her other hand. "And where would we be, then? Alone? How could I bear not knowing you, as you are?"

She looked at him a little softer, ducking her head just slightly to hide a charmed smile—he could always charm her.

"Wyatt..."

She pulled him close, sliding her hand to the back of his neck for a brief kiss.

Wyatt kissed her back, and let their foreheads rest together. "I'm in town for a few weeks more. Call me when you have the time?"

" _If_ I have the time." Jen smirked, and got up off the arm of the couch, pushing Wyatt back while holding him close. She smoothed her hand across his shoulder, across the red fabric of his shirt. "I'll call you."

Just one more kiss... Wyatt tilted his head up to catch her lips.

Jen laughed against his mouth, and again, quieter—"I'll _call_ you."

He let her go with a grin. "I'll be waiting with my phone in-hand, night and day, with bated breath."

"Uh-huh." Jen rolled her eyes, but she grinned just as widely. "I'll see you later, corndog."

"Bye, Jen." Wyatt gave her a little wave, and gathered his jacket to take his leave as she went to check on Lyra.

Out here, the floor was quiet, no other apartments on the same level and so, no visitors. In some ways, this reminded him of how things used to be, as he considered the elevator. He took the stairs instead, and thought of Jen's old penthouse where he'd stayed briefly. When they'd gotten back together, just as briefly. Always briefly, back and forth, off and on, in and out of each other's gravity.

Busy, as always. Both of them.

Wyatt checked his watch as he made his way downstairs. 9 pm? Not too late. Might as well make it an early night. Maybe he could go early tomorrow, surprise Johnny. Hang out with him and the kids for a bit before they went out to dinner. After all, he hadn't seen Valeria since she was just a tiny baby. How big she must have gotten since!

Yes. He'd go early, see the whole family—Ben, Reed, Sue, all of them. Meet all the new kids Johnny had told him so much about.

***

 **Monday, October 6 th, 2014**.

Wyatt let his jacket hang open as he left the hotel. It wasn't too cold, not yet, though clouds darkened the sky with the promise of a rainy week ahead. Something in their cast, in the electric twinge in the air, drew goosebumps across his skin. That old anxiety surfaced again, his constant companion since childhood—since his parents died when he was young. Just a dull sick feeling in his stomach, of the sort he couldn't shake.

The hands on his watch ticked to three o'clock even as he stopped in a café on his way there. No worry that he'd be late, after all, considering he wasn't supposed to meet Johnny until six. He ordered a cup of chamomile tea and sat by the window, letting the steam soothe him.

A ripple parted the crowd outside, a small handful of people looking up—the Avengers. Most of the crowd ignored them, though. A daily sighting. Wyatt's eyes lingered in the direction they had gone, as he took a sip of hot tea.

It did little to quell him.

He could hear sirens.

Much as he'd missed the city, he never got used to this. Save maybe when he had been in college, or actively living with the Fantastic Four before his brief stint in law school. But after being home so long and then coming back here, only a week so far, the noise... the smells... the crowds. The buildings reaching up into the sky, and the sky reaching down so heavy with clouds.

Wyatt waited a few more minutes, slowly sipping his tea as it cooled.

He itched with impatience, nerves. Waiting for a storm to break.

He downed the rest of his tea in one go, flooding his body with warmth for just a moment before it dissipated, and left.

He couldn't tell if there were more people than usual, or if the past few years back in Oklahoma had made him claustrophobic. He kept his head down and his arms in and did his best to politely shoulder his way down the street. People murmured, and he couldn't hear any birds. It was fifteen past three, and the smell of car exhaust and cigarettes had begun to get to him.

Wyatt breathed out, carefully, standing at a street crossing. No one spared him even the slightest glance as he muttered to himself, "Everything is fine."

The Baxter Building slid into view—it always did, off and on, intimately recognizable to him. He hadn't been looking up, though. Now he looked up, and saw it worse for the wear, a common sight. He was torn between a tightening in his chest and an almost-nostalgia as he wondered what could have happened this time.

Doctor Doom again? An experiment gone wrong? Blastaar, maybe. Or—well, no, it couldn't have been the Wizard; he knew as much from what Jen had mentioned in texts that morning, explaining what had happened with Lyra's homecoming dance the night before. Definitely not the Wizard.

Maybe it was the _Lizard_.

Wyatt huffed to himself as he made his way down the street.

No. The Lizard was more Spider-Man's domain.

Closer, closer still. The departure of the Avengers—ah, so that was where they had been headed earlier. An ambulance, a firetruck, also departing in relative silence aside from the growl of their engines. No big emergency, then, if they were leaving without sirens.

Still, something nagged at him, as he entered the building at half past three.

The lobby was empty, and he shrugged it off.

The system recognized him with a chime and his name, and he smiled. The elevator lurched and he briefly shut his eyes at the roll of ill feeling it sent through his body. That, and it was too hot. He'd been sweating through his undershirt for the past thirty minutes. He hoped Johnny wouldn't mind if they stayed in for dinner instead, because suddenly the idea of going out had him nauseous.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out.

The destruction really wasn't that bad in the hallway, but it certainly looked as though someone had gone on a rampage through the building. No wonder the Avengers had shown up.

"Hello?" He tried to remember the layout—was it even the same? Picked his way through one room, making his way along a trail of increased rubble and broken walls with a vague idea of where he was going. "I know I'm early, but surely someone's home?"

A muffled murmur confirmed that someone was indeed home, and he stopped in front of Reed's lab just as the door opened.

The smell of smoke and thunder and metal.

Sue stopped frozen with Franklin held tightly to her chest and little Valeria clutching her hand. She looked at Wyatt with wide eyes, as if she had been struck.

"Is everything alright?" Wyatt frowned, a headache threatening as he peered into the red emergency lights of the lab over her shoulder. "I saw firetrucks and..."

"No." Sue's voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Wyatt looked away from the lumbering shape of Ben's silhouette, and many smaller silhouettes, to really look at Sue. Really look at the bags under her bloodshot eyes. The salt encrusted on her cheeks. The way Franklin sniffled in her arms. How Valeria scrutinized him with far more intensity than he would have expected from a toddler.

"Do you need help?" Wyatt held his arms out, willing to take Franklin as he had a thousand times before.

Sue didn't move, just stared at him, as Ben came up behind her with an armful of non-human children clinging to his rocky frame, and a few more children behind him.

"Ms. Richards?" Wyatt swallowed down his nausea and anxiety.

Surely he could be calm in the face of whatever had happened to make Sue like this, fading on the edges.

"Johnny's dead."

He was calm.

Sue pushed Franklin, who had grown so much since the last time Wyatt had seen him, into Wyatt's arms, and she disappeared.

And he remained calm, and took Valeria—who he barely knew—into his arms as well, and held both children close to his chest. Two tiny bodies, quick to cling onto him just as he clung to them. Ben and the other children moved past him, into the hallway.

Wyatt kept his voice steady as he asked, "Where's Mr. Richards? Reed."

Ben stopped just long enough to say, "Offplanet," before leading everyone away with the eldest boy bringing up the back.

Wyatt stood in the hallway outside of the smoking laboratory, with Franklin and Valeria Richards in his arms.

Slowly, slowly, he followed the others.

***

 **Monday, October 13 th, 2014**.

After the unveiling of the statue, sweet and smiling with that flame in-hand, Wyatt sat on a cleared spot under the plaque for at least thirty minutes with an armful of white and red flowers. He leaned against the stone until his own body heat warmed it, looking up at the dark sky as small drops of rain began to fall.

"Do you plan to stay in this place for the rest of the evening, or will you leave before spring?"

Wyatt turned his head.

It was, of all people, Doctor Doom, in a very nice wool suit with a heavy green cloak. His mask glowered down at Wyatt but his posture spoke of something less aggressive as he held one gloved hand out.

Wyatt turned his head away, voice quiet—"How many people have you lost?"

Doom was silent for a moment, standing there like his own statue, until, surprisingly, he sat beside Wyatt with a grunt.

"Crimson roses and white chrysanthemums." Doom sat stiffly, with his hands clasped in his lap as he regarded Wyatt, speaking with no rush. "I would say you have made a typical choice, but the scarlet roses give me pause." Doom looked out on the cemetery, at the folding chairs slowly being removed by the setup crew. It seemed one of his hands tremored slightly. "You cared for him."

Wyatt frowned at the flowers in his lap. "I—" He ran his thumb along one of the brighter red petals. "I wasn't aware there was a difference between crimson and scarlet."

After a pause, Doom let out a small, derisive laugh. "And yet." He stood, slowly, for a second unsteady. But he straightened into that proud figure Wyatt had only seen from afar. "Yet you hold both to your heart."

He let out a long breath, reaching up to let his hood down. The rainy light gleamed off of the smooth profile of his helmet. He seemed to gesture to an older, bearded man standing beside a limousine, but spoke to Wyatt again—

"You are an orphan."

Wyatt considered that statement. Stood himself, and leaned down to place his flowers in his vacated spot before answering. He crossed his arms, his own dark gray suit creasing. "I don't know if I would say that I am."

Being an orphan, that was more than just having dead parents, wasn't it? It was about being alone, with no family of any sort. No one to love you or make sure you were okay. No one to wipe your tears or hug you.

"Are _you_ an orphan?" Wyatt hunched his shoulders against the cold rain.

Doctor Doom said nothing, turning his back to Wyatt fully as the man with a beard approached with a bouquet of brightly colored orchids. Doom took them with a quiet murmur in a language Wyatt didn't recognize, and turned back to Wyatt.

"Epicatanthe." Doom knelt with a quiet groan, down on one knee to place the blazing orange orchids on the steps of the statue. "There is a longer name, but I cannot make my tongue cooperate with the syllables at the moment." He sighed, kneeling there a moment. " _Orange Fire_." He looked up at Wyatt. "I suppose even Doom is capable of humor, whether the times be dark or otherwise."

Wyatt didn't know what to say to that, so instead he offered his bare hand to Doom as Doom had to him, out of politeness.

For a moment, they looked at each other.

Then Victor took Wyatt's hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright. He raised his chin, gold eyes glinting with something inscrutable under the clouds, and tucked his trembling hand into his suit jacket.

"Victor von Doom takes his leave."

His cloak swished across the damp grass, accompanied by the bearded man back to his limousine.

Wyatt looked up at the flame in the statue's hand as the limo drove away.

# Life

**Sunday, February 1 st, 2015.**

**Lawton, Oklahoma**.

The past four months had become a stagnant pool of Wyatt dragging his feet through the motions of everyday life and responsibility. In that mire he hadn't sunk into for years, a simple haze of: eat, work, sleep, repeat. Speak with understanding to the children, even smile genuinely sometimes at their jokes or antics or earnest kindness. Don't dwell on dissatisfaction, and certainly don't dwell on loss. Don't let Becky or Rain or Wynona view the full extent of what he could only describe as a tar bog.

But Wyatt was good at that. Hiding everything away and packing it down until he didn't have to talk about it with anyone, pretending he was okay so no one would worry about him. No wonder he befriended people who did almost the opposite, passionate and outward and explosive. Opening their hurt and wounds for the world to see even when they didn't want to.

He couldn't do that.

Everyone knew he was depressed, though.

Maybe because he rarely went out anymore, rarely saw friends unless they came to him. Was quiet, and hardly smiled. But he was Wyatt Wingfoot—he was strong, so they knew not to worry over him too much. Not to fuss over him. He would be fine, like he always was. A few months would pass and he would recover from what Johnny had always called a "funk."

He'd managed in college after Johnny dropped out, and he'd managed when he and Jen first split up, and he'd manage now.

Of course, it had been a few months already.

Wyatt ducked into the house, arms full of groceries.

It was quiet, a little lonely. Rain lived with her husband in grandma and grandpa's old house. Wynona lived in Tulsa with her dad. Wyatt lived here, in his modest one-bedroom bungalow. He had his inheritance of course, and it was a nice place, with tall doorways and high counters. But it wasn't too fancy. Just simple, nice. Enough for him on his own. A big fridge for his big metabolism, though he hadn’t been eating as much lately.

He put away the groceries in silence, only belatedly turning on the stereo to fill the empty space with something more than dust. Easy listening and 80s classics. He made dinner. Sat alone in his breakfast nook, listening to barely-audible Cyndi Lauper as he ate.

Wyatt remembered dancing to "Time After Time" at Johnny's wedding. Taking turns leading with Jen, who looked so beautiful. Trading glances with Johnny, with his shining smile, dutifully leading a dance he didn't seem to be enjoying as much as he wanted.

And for a while things had been... okay.

And for a while they hadn't.

And eventually Wyatt had returned to Oklahoma, to be with his sisters and to talk to the council members about his role here. To make some decisions about his life. And he saw Johnny off and on, and Jennifer off and on, as they traveled and he traveled.

And now it had been at least a year since he'd seen Johnny even without factoring in his death. A year, which on a normal day wasn't so bad. On a normal day he could write a letter and expect a hand-delivered response within the week. On a normal day he could text him, or send him an email, or call him. But he hadn't even been able to say goodbye, four months ago. To see Johnny one last time. And now he would never get that chance.

He could write all the letters he wanted, stuffing them unsent into a box in the back of his closet along with the other things he wanted to forget.

He could write a letter every week for four months and lock each one up...

And it wouldn't make any difference.

Wyatt pushed his plate away and let his head bow until his forehead touched the surface of the table, and he folded his hands over the back of his head.

***

**Friday, February 6 th, 2015.**

It had been a cold week, but today was warm enough that Wyatt shed his sweater and rolled his sleeves up during class, and the kids' coats lay all over the place in a colorful mess, too hot to run around in during recess. Wyatt almost smiled to himself as he picked a few up, hanging them on the little hooks that barely made it to waist-level for him. He pushed in a few tiny chairs with his foot, and sat at his desk to eat his lunch.

Just a thermos of tea and a sandwich he found himself picking at in disinterest.

He took a long drink of his tea, lukewarm, as he pulled out his iPhone.

Boring, normal. Becky tweeting a picture of her latest project on the track. Cat photos.

A Backstreet Boys video from the Human Torch account he still followed.

Someone's dog licking a baby.

Wyatt scrolled back down, flooded with a sudden heat that had him sitting up and leaning over his phone.

The Human Torch account.

The official one, with the blue checkmark. He clicked to the account. The bio, with "RIP Johnny Storm (10/1/1987 - 10/6/2014)" removed and replaced with "Am I everything you need?"

"Oh my God." Wyatt's voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

His phone buzzed and he almost dropped it. It was Jen:

" _I hope you're sitting down._ "

Before he could get out a reply, his phone buzzed again, this time...

Johnny.

" _Hey big guy. Sorry I stood you up. How's 8 pm next Friday night sound for a reschedule? I'll pick you up._ "

The message blurred, and Wyatt drew in a ragged breath—pressed a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes and fought back the damp burning heat behind his eyelids.

He answered his phone on the first ring.

"Johnny?" He knew he sounded breathless, but...

"Jenny." Jennifer, sounding surprisingly level considering the revelation. Chipper, even. "I take it you got his text."

He felt... at a loss, for a moment. But, "When...?"

"Just past sunrise. I know I'm one to talk, having died a few times myself, but I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him—"

"Jennifer..." Wyatt's voice broke.

She stopped talking. Only for a second, and then said, simply, "Oh, baby."

Wyatt ran his thumb over the surface of his thermos, voice as measured as he could get it—"Is he...?"

"With me? Yeah." The line on Jen's end rustled as she presumably got up. " _Hey, Starman! Wyatt wants to talk to you!_ _What?! No way! Get your ass over here—_ " The clunk of Jen setting her phone down, a brief scuffle, a sound of indignation, some indistinct words. Like listening from the bottom of a lake. " _I don't care if you're busy! Do you know how hard it's been to get him to pick up the damn phone since you died?! Sit down and talk to him!_ " A huff as Jen retrieved her phone. "Sorry about that, lover. Here he is."

Wyatt held his breath, almost, somewhere tight and high in his chest.

"...Hey." Johnny sounded sheepish.

He let it out, weak. "Johnny."

"Listen," Johnny cleared his throat. "If you're gonna cry, just, get it over with, okay?"

A little sharp, a little stiff.

Wyatt's throat felt tight. He swallowed that tension, and with a hoarseness to his voice asked only, "What happened?"

Johnny snorted. "Oh, you know. Died a few times, staged a coup, the usual. I'll tell you all about it later." He paused, voice gentling. "...How have you been?"

Wyatt took another deep breath, slowly regaining his composure.

"Well," He rubbed the tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. "Do you want the honest answer, or do you want the polite answer?"

Johnny seemed to hesitate but he said, "Honest."

"I have not been doing very well."

"Oh." Johnny let out a breath. "Yeah, I guess...Guess I can see how that... You, um—" He floundered. "You in one of those funks you get in?"

Wyatt couldn't help but let out a small, shaky laugh. "Yeah," He rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah, it's been real hard, without my best friend around to cheer me up."

"Aw, it wasn't that long—four months? That's not... You know. That's less than half a year, right? You went most of college without me around!"

With a sigh, Wyatt said, "Yes, and I was very lonely in college. But at least I could send you letters."

Johnny was silent a moment. But he said, "I'm sorry."

Wyatt shook his head, as the alarm rang, signaling the end of recess. "I'll see you soon... Right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, once I'm done with all this crap at home—Friday, I'll be there, I promise." Johnny sounded a little hoarse himself, suddenly. A little wavering. "God, I don't want to hang up, now." He laughed, a little sharp and a little watery. "It's been so long... I didn't realize how much I missed your voice."

For just a moment, Wyatt closed his eyes. Soft on his lips, "Me too..."

Johnny sniffed loudly, and laughed again, almost like he was embarrassed. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be here."

"Eight o'clock, Friday night."

Wyatt grinned to himself, for the first time in months, as his students began to file back into the classroom. "Eight o'clock."

"Wear something nice!"

He laughed, and a couple of students looked at him curiously. "I have to _go_ , Johnny, it's time for class."

"If you don't wear something nice I'll be super disappointed."

Wyatt shook his head, still grinning ear-to-ear. "For you, my friend? I'll wear the nicest suit I own. For now, temporarily, goodbye."

"See you next week, bud."

The line went quiet, and Wyatt set his phone down.

He hadn't eaten his lunch at all, but that was okay. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. Filling up with a warmth he'd forgotten he missed, unable to keep himself from smiling as he stood and looked over his students.

"Okay, y'all, who can tell me what we were going to talk about after lunch?"

A shy student raised her hand hesitantly in the back and Wyatt pointed to her, beaming. "Yes, Marie!"

Today was going to be a good day.

# Love

**Friday, February 13 th, 2015.**

**7:55 pm.**

**Lawton, Oklahoma**.

Wyatt took a deep breath.

Held it, high again in his chest, and let it out slowly.

He straightened his silk tie—scarlet, not crimson—and ran his finger along his neatly combed-back hair. Slick, sharp, freshly showered with the slightest dab of his favorite leathery cologne on either wrist. His nicest suit was a smooth gray, but he'd worn that to Johnny's memorial service, and he really didn’t want to recreate that look for their reunion.

So instead, he wore his favorite suit, a mossy green tweed flecked with the tiniest specks of saffron and spring green, natural variations in the wool. His red tie popped, and he wore his favorite caramel-colored Oxfords, and he felt good.

He adjusted his watch, eye on the second hand as the time ticked closer to eight.

His chest felt tight, but not the way it had through winter. A different kind of tightness, a giddiness bubbling up under his skin and filling him with the nervous urge to laugh, or cry, or both.

The noise of an engine brought him down to earth in a rush, and he breathed in sharply through his nose.

The thud of a car door, and moments later, the playful rap of knuckles on his front door.

He held his breath one last time, and once more, let it out slowly.

He opened the door.

Johnny, his hair swept in a graceful wave away from his forehead. A deep maroon velvet blazer over a turtleneck much the same color, and dark pants to match. A slight bruising under his eyes, but he smiled up at Wyatt. Dizzying, or maybe that was the perfume he wore, equal parts floral and smoky.

Wyatt stared at him for a moment, hand resting gently on the doorknob.

Just looked. Took him in, breathing evenly.

Johnny grinned wider, a little crooked. "I match your tie."

Wyatt threw his arms around Johnny—

"Whoa, there, cowboy!"

—Stumbled them in a circle, holding Johnny as tight as he could without hurting him, hunched down around him a little bit awkwardly but he never wanted to let go, with Johnny grabbing the edge of his jacket.

Wyatt regained his footing and just stood there quietly, his arms locked around Johnny's slender shoulders, one hand on the back of Johnny's head and Johnny's face pressed into his collar.

Slowly, Johnny's arms came up around Wyatt's back as he relaxed, and Wyatt adjusted himself so he could rest his chin on the top of Johnny's head. Eyes closed, just holding him, blazing hot, as close to his heart as he could get him. Breathing in his familiar perfume-and-fuel smell. Wyatt smoothed his hand over the back of Johnny's head, once. Reassuring them both that he was here, and real.

Johnny's arms tightened slightly.

Quietly, he mumbled, "I missed you too."

# End

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny's got the transforming fantasticar, the one that turns into a regular car. You know, if he's gonna pick up Wyatt for a fancy dinner, he's gonna do it right. Even if it is not... technically...... a date... (it's a date)  
> either that or it's a rental
> 
> There are some minor tweaks to canon in this--
> 
> Generally, most of Wyatt's backstory is bullshit, so I tend to bulldoze 90% of it when I write him. As usual, Gerry Conway's 1973 "Keewazi" retcon has been ignored and Wyatt is Comanche, as he was introduced. 
> 
> Wyatt doesn't live on a reservation because Oklahoma doesn't _have_ reservations, though it has tribal jurisdictions... so I chose Lawton because it's the seat of the Comanche Nation's headquarters and it seemed likely that his grandparents would have lived in the area, though I think Wyatt still spent at least part of his life in Tulsa, particularly in high school.  
> Wyatt's not the chief because that is not how things work.
> 
> Wyatt went most of the early 2000s without any real appearances in Fantastic Four comics (or any comics for that matter), but I figure that even though it isn't shown he probably comes to NYC once every year or so to visit his friends, the FF, Jen, the city in general. At the very least he must have come to visit after Valeria was born.  
> So I'm just.... filling the blanks I have been deprived of.
> 
> Set in 2014/2015 because of sliding timescale constantly shifting forward and because of how I place characters' current ages and how long I guesstimated it might have been since Johnny returned in-canon. Imprecise. Just vibes.
> 
> Von Doom in a suit cause I liked the idea, though I know he wore his full armor to Johnny's funeral. 
> 
> I made johnny's bday 10/1 because strange tales #101........  
> death day 10/6 because 6 days, and even if Hickman himself hadn't been playing with the 6, 3, 4 stuff I like multiples of 3 anyway.
> 
> Fashion inspiration (though not exact)  
>   
> [link](https://shibumi-firenze.tumblr.com/post/111459606413/shibumi-red-silk-tie-and-grey-boxcloth-braces)
> 
>   
> [link](https://vampireswife.tumblr.com/post/186100986294/tom-ford-fall-2019)  
> 


End file.
